


Wayward Wolves

by EclipseWing



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3b was au as well because of Allison, Experimentation, Gen, Somewhere in writing this I realise Stiles and Allison are my two favourite characters, Supernatural reveal, and I just want the pair being badass together, dark au set post-3b, described non-graphically, it doesn't go well, stallison brotp, to the world, torture and imprisonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:34:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EclipseWing/pseuds/EclipseWing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When werewolves are revealed to the world at large, the world doesn't take it the way the pack had hoped. As exterminators begin a slow but gradual wipe-out of the supernatural, it turns out that it is not the wolves of the pack that are in the most trouble, but the humans.</p><p>[AU Post 3b where nobody takes the revelation that there are monsters in the shadows well.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wayward Wolves

For years, decades, centuries the supernatural had been nothing more than a myth to humanity. Nothing more than lost forgotten stories faded on scroll and in the dusty memories of those long dead - that's all it was.

That's all it had been, until one day everything changed.

The world was faster, technology better. Cameras could take pictures, guns could kill and heat and radiation signatures could be traced. And as quickly as the government and secret organisations tried to hide the evidence, the truth was slowly but surely leaking out.

And like a dam, with the water built up over years, decades, centuries the wall eventually came crashing down.

"I'm reporting to you from New York City where a creature has been taken into custody. They are calling it the 'wolfman' and he appears to be something nobody has seen before…'

'The beast is apparently identified as 'loup garou' or the more common term used nowadays - werewolf…'

And just like that everybody knows.

And nothing is the same.

 

Stiles doesn't know the details of the first encounter, or whatever bullshit name they're calling the Discovery nowadays. He doesn't know the werewolf's name, and he doesn't know what the guy was doing to not only get himself caught, but to get the police involved and the news crews broadcasting it live before the government could shut it down.

He remembers seeing the reports flashing across the screen on every channel. All it seemed to take was this one event, and now the whole world knew. People were coming forwards with outlandish stories about creatures that lurked in the night. Some sounded true, some sounded fabricated.

And with the truth, came the fear, and with the fear, came the hate.

Stiles turned off the TV from where it was broadcasting about supernatural rights. Apparently it was going to become mandatory for all supernatural creatures to make themselves known to the official governing body that was now in charge of the mythical and unreal. They were throwing around phrases such as 'to understand them' and 'for the betterment of mankind' but Stiles knew it was all nothing more than a fancy way of saying 'we want to cut you up in a lab and see how you work'.

He pulled out his jeep keys and clambered in, making a stop to pick up Lydia on the way to school. He and the pack were doing the sensible thing and keeping their mouths shut.

It was safer that way.

It was safer for all of them.

 

Given time and lots of patience people may have come around to the idea of supernaturally inclined people living amongst them, much the same way superheroes can exist in comic book pages.

But as it is it’s not that easy. Instead of accepting it everyone reacts badly. Crimes and murders get blown out of proportion until that’s all that ever appears on the news, various cases coming to light with a supernatural at its centre.

Their fear in understandable, Danny thinks as he scrawls down the answer to a math question. Nearby Lydia and Stiles have their head down, working as if everything is normal. As if there aren’t armed guards monitoring the school with cameras everywhere, and army trucks driving around the streets.

Because nobody wants their kid outside if there is a chance they’ll get killed by a vampire or turned into a werewolf. The media has exploded with supernatural horror stories and the public outcry forced the government to do something.

Danny looks around the room, but Stiles, Lydia and Allison are the only ones there.

 

It looks almost harmless.

Mountain Ash. Rowan. A tree burned to dust and then scattered.

But it keeps them out. Wolves and coyotes and foxes and wendigos and vampires and skin walkers and almost every other creature that possesses that spark of magic.

Scott does a headcount of his pack. He feels the missing holes where his humans should be like a missing limb.

Liam looks nervous, like he doesn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t be here, and had Scott not bitten him he wouldn’t be here. The poor kid had been forced to leave his mother, his step-father, his best friend to come along with them.

But at least he was alive.

Malia has nobody she has to leave behind. Except maybe Stiles, and that might explain why her control is screwed to hell. Her father (adopted) barely registered in her life at this point. The coyote is leaning close to Kira, and Kira brought her family with her. Her mother is a kitsune as well, and her father just knows far too much.

Scott wishes he had used that excuse to get everyone here.

But as it is he’s got Isaac, Ethan and Aiden with him, and Derek and Peter even lurk in the corner. His mom rubs her hands together, looking worried and there is an empty space in the room where the others aren’t.

Because Lydia is immune to almost everything. It’s one of the skills of a banshee. She’s immune and as good as human, except she hears things that nobody else can, has a scream that Scott is willing to bet can break glass and an uncanny ability to find dead bodies.

But she’s safe. She can slip under the radar in a way none of the others can.

None of the others bar the humans.

Stiles and Allison have stayed with Lydia. Chris and the Sheriff have as good as combined resources together, and it was for that reason and that reason only that Scott stands here, sans his ex-girlfriend and best friend.

“They’ll be okay,” Isaac says, but looks just as worried as Scott, “It’s Stiles and Allison. And Lydia. They’ll be fine.”

Scott only hopes that will prove true.

 

It wasn’t obvious at first what was happening. Just the occasional tale drifting up from the neighbouring pack that Scott had finally extended a hand of an alliance to. Tales of missing omegas, of government officials in black suits capturing a supernatural who wanders down the wrong dark alley.

But they can put everything together. Stiles works it out first, because his dad is in law enforcement. He finds the folder, the attempt to identify every supernatural in Beacon Hills, noting addresses and associates. That’s worrying enough, but then Stiles looks into the DSOI.

The Department of Supernatural Occurrence Investigations.

There is a name that is already being coined for them. The Uncannies.

“Because they’re uncannily good at being a pain in the ass,” Stiles says, spitting out the pencil in his mouth as he leans over Lydia’s notes, “I can’t hack their systems at all.”

“Danny,” Scott suggests, from where he is sitting on the bed, trying to work out why Stiles is getting so worried about this, “He can hack anything.”

“I’ve already given it to him,” Stiles frowns, “He actually coined the term. I’m hoping it’s going to catch on. Because these guys… they’re everywhere. All the government action involving Supes has to be sanctioned by the DSOI.”

“Good,” Scott shrugs, “So they’ve got guys monitoring everything. I don’t see the problem.”

“Because.” Stiles glares at the computer, then grabs his files, “See this?” he shows Scott the list, “This is a list of all missing Omega wolves that Deaton’s cryptic buddies reported. And this?” he pulls out another file and begins pulling out pieces of paper.

“Woah,” Scott frowns, “They…”

“They all match,” Stiles flicks through the files detailing about the omegas, the names, addresses, and then random information like weight and blood type and age and finally the most worrying…

“Terminated,” he drops the piece of paper and pulls out another, “Terminated. Terminated. Sent for research. Sent for research. Terminated. Sent for research. Terminated.” The paper litters the floor, “Don’t you see? They’re rounding you guys up like animals and killing you. Experimenting on you. Trying to find out what makes you tick. Trying to find out how to kill you.”

“I think you’re jumping to conclusions,” Scott looks down at the paper on the floor.

Lydia sighs, “Maybe,” she shrugs, “But it’s not looking good, either way, Scott. Because for every humane monster they catch, they catch a feral wolf who wants to rip their heart out of their chest and eat it still beating. And what are you going to do? Tell them not to put down the rogue Omegas with blue eyes? Tell them not to make the streets a safer place?”

“And once they’ve got the wild ones off the streets who do you think they’re going to come after, huh?” Stiles gestures wildly, “The ones still hiding. The ones who look human.”

Because it all comes down to those ones. The monsters who can walk amongst the humans unseen.

“We keep our heads down and act normal,” Scott says, “It won’t come to that.”

Stiles meets his gaze, his brown eyes looking at Scott as if he can almost see him being snatched away and shot with wolfsbane bullets. He nods, pressing his lips together, “At least have a plan,” he asks, “In case they do decide to come after you. Have a plan to get everyone out.”

“Stiles…”

“Please,” his best-friend looks desperate, “For me?”

Scott sighs and relents. Lydia is nodding as if it’s a good idea, so he agrees.

He just never thought they’d have to use it.

 

Now they stand there in Derek’s loft, because Stiles had been right.

Stiles had been right.

The school was going through tests with mountain ash on all students.

They couldn’t stay. Not when they’d be arrested, forced to identify themselves. If they were lucky they’d be let back into society with a badge, and a permanent guard.

If they weren’t lucky they’d be dragged away to where all the other missing supernatural creatures had gone.

Scott wasn’t willing to chance it.

“You guys ready?” he asks, running a hand through his hair and looking about at everyone, all packed with the bare minimum. They’re actually doing this. They’re leaving. Running. Hiding.

Scott can’t help but think it feels a lot like abandoning.

 

They mill outside the school, and they’re called in one by one. The whole building has been circled with mountain ash, and one by one the Uncannies stationed there call one student forwards and shove them over the barrier.

Allison is one of the first, since they’re calling everybody up in alphabetical order by surname. She doesn’t look at them, chin held high and she steps over the barrier with no trouble. Stiles releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

He’s nearly last. He has to wait, listening to all the pauses as the Uncanny reading out the names gets to his friends. Lydia leaves him then, patting him on the shoulder with a thin smile. Danny’s just gone, and she’s next to walk to the barrier. She hesitates, and Stiles pauses, wondering if she’s immune to mountain ash as well.

Then she steps over it, smirking confidently and vanishing into the school.

Then it’s Stiles’ turn. He trips a little bit, and there is a moment when he remembers the nogitsune and wonders if there is still that little bit of fox left in him that may get him killed right now, but then he’s in the school and trying to recall the point he stepped over the barrier.

“Are you three okay?” Danny asks, looking at them with concern. Because Danny knows - because of course he does. He knows the others are something, definitely knows about werewolves, and Stiles just manages a nod.

“We’re fine,” Lydia says, “Why wouldn’t we be?” and her smile is like thin paper, easily torn when a black suited man steps into the room.

“Stilinski. Argent. Martin. Can we have a word?”

Allison stands, “What’s wrong?” she asks, faking a chirpy voice.

“Come with us,” the black suit gestures.

Stiles wants to argue, but it’s easier to let Lydia pull him up and walk after the Uncanny. They follow the guy into an empty classroom where another man is standing. He turns and smiles at them, but it just screams false.

“My name is Janson,” he introduces himself. Stiles almost immediately forgets the name. The man looks like a rat, like someone who would scrounge in alleyways for food and clothes. “I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

“About what?” Allison is the one talking, because Stiles is seconds away from having a panic attack and Lydia is likely to insult them.

“Your friends.” And he drops a brown folder onto the table, “Liam Dubarr. Malia Tate. Kira Yukimura. Isaac Lahey. Scott McCall.” He gestures at the file, “They weren’t present for the test.”

“Maybe they’re ill,” Stiles says, because lying? That he can do, “Actually Scott has this thing about taking Kira on dates to Mexico. Maybe they all went on a trip.”

Janson’s eyes glint, “You are saying you have no idea where your girlfriend and best friend have gone?” and Stiles stops talking, because this guy has done his research. “Or your boyfriend,” he turns to Allison, “Or…” he looks at Lydia, “I believe you’re dating a guy named Aiden. No surname. Do you know where he is?”

“No,” Lydia arches her neck, “I broke up with him.”

“Indeed,” Janson narrows his eyes at the three of them, “Well,” he picks up the folder, “Should you see them, then please report it. They need to be tested or they’ll be labelled as supernatural.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing,” Allison remarks calmly as she heads for the door, assuming dismissal. Stiles follows.

“Oh, Miss… Argent, is it?” he blinks at the name, “In this day and age it’s certainly not a good thing.”

“Good luck with your witch hunts,” Stiles holds the door open for Lydia, then lets it swing closed.

He can still feel the heavy stare of that guy, gaze burning the back of his neck.

 

Whispers follow them around school. Because of course it’s noticed, that half their friends are gone. And they had been close, a tight knit group, a _pack_ …

“Is it me,” Stiles hums as he grabs books from his locker, “Or are they following us?”

“And they call us paranoid,” Lydia curls a strand of hair idly, leaning next to him against the metal. She tilts her head, peering past him down the corridor, “But I think you’re right.”

Stiles scoffs, “What do they think we’re going to do, just lead us right to them?” He turns around and Allison is hovering there. “Did you hear?” he asks her, “Apparently your former boyfriend is a monster?”

“What?” Allison frowns, “Scott wouldn’t hurt a fly. I don’t think he’s capable of that.”

“Exactly,” Stiles shrugs, leaning back on the closed locker door and jerking his head sideways, “You too?” he asks.

Allison shrugs, “Dad says they’ve been asking him questions.” Her eyes dart sideways, “I don’t think Janson likes us,” she crosses her arms, ducking her head, “Wasn’t he poking around the Police Station as well?”

“My dad doesn’t like him,” Stiles shrugs, “He says the guy’s a rat, and he almost turned out…” he stops, coughs and looks pointedly at Lydia. She rolls her eyes, knowing who Stiles is talking about.

“Jordan’s fine,” she sighs.

“Oh, Jordan now, is it?” Stiles’ smirk is teasing.

Lydia hits him in the arm, and then straightens, “Nine o’clock,” she says brightly, and Stiles turns, plastering a smile on his face as the rat-faced man of their discussions makes a beeline towards them.

“Janson,” Stiles says cheerily, “How are you doing today? Find any fluffy monsters…?” he stops, because the man looks more pissed off than usual.

“One of these days, I’ll find out exactly what you’re hiding,” the guy points a finger threateningly at Stiles, but Stiles has had a thousand year old fox inside his head - he’s not even vaguely daunted. “But at the moment,” the suit steps back, brushing an invisible speck of dust from the immaculate grey, “we need to talk. It’s about your father. He was in an accident…”

Lydia gets to watch as Stiles’ expression slides off his face until all she can see is his blank eyes staring at the man in front of him.

Lydia and Allison both get to watch as Stiles breaks apart.

 

They call it an ‘accident’.

Stiles won’t say it without using air quotes and something in his eyes that if Lydia didn’t know better she would think was the mercury silver iris of a demon fox.

That’s all they tell Stiles. There was an accident and they’re very sorry, but the Sheriff didn’t make it.

Jordan’s gone. Lydia doesn’t know what happened, but she knows this was planned. Jordan’s gone, and she wonders if they thought he was dead when they left his body. Either way; Jordan is gone and the Sheriff is dead.

It’s raining when Allison gets her phone call. Lydia and Stiles sit on the couch, pretending to do homework when in reality; they are both staring at where Allison stands outside, the rain plastering her hair to her face. She’s nodding, speaking urgently into the speaker, and once the call disconnects, she remains staring at the phone for some time.

“My dad’s in France,” she tells them, water dripping off her. They can’t tell if she’s crying or not. “He says he’s not coming back for a while, that it… it’s not safe.” She looks up finally, gaze blank, “They’re questioning hunters,” she whispers, “They… they’re putting out calls to bring any hunters in.”

She laughs. It’s hysterical, “All those times… all those times when the hunters thought they were better and now… now we’re all grouped together. We’re all in the same boat, supernatural, hunter… we’re all the prey now.”

 

Janson begins to get serious, dragging them out of class to talk to them. He throws down testimonies on the table and it’s an interrogation, pretty much. Stiles sits curled in on himself as he stares blankly at the files.

“I’ve heard rumours,” Janson begins, “of this fabled ‘Beacon Hill’s Pack’.” His tone is a sneer, “So why. Can’t. I. Find them?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says, dully.

“They say the alpha is a true alpha who won’t kill,” Janson snorts, “Pathetic. A monster who is slightly more special than the others is still a monster.”

Stiles doesn’t bite back. He knows that’s what the guy wants.

“Then there are reports that one of the last kitsune family moves to this area. They were here to deal with a dark spirit and decided to stay. Oddly enough that was the same time you were admitted to Eichen House for… what was it? Sleep paralysis, sleep walking, waking hallucinations…”

Stiles says nothing.

“And this one girl - Malia - she lived wild in the woods for eight years and nobody noticed a teenage girl running around?”

“What’s your point?” Stiles’ tone is bitter.

“I know you know where they are,” Janson leans forwards, almost kindly, “Won’t you just tell us?”

Stiles’ shoulders slump and he stares at the table.

“It would make it so much easier on all of this…”

“Well… they said something about Nebraska,” Stiles says quietly, and watches and Janson grabs for a pencil, “But they were also talking about Colorado… or maybe Utah…” His lips curl as the guy drops his pen angrily.

Janson doesn’t look impressed, and Stiles smirks.

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, “Now if you’re finished…” he excuses himself, and stands, spinning around and slamming out of the office. He’s in the corridor so at least now if Janson tries anything there are other students around to pass witness.

It appears like the guy doesn’t care.

“Come back here, Stilinski! Come back here and face me like a man! Your father would have!”

Stiles snaps.

“Don’t you _dare_ talk about my father!” he’s whirling around, and it’s hard to tell if he was going to punch Janson or lash out with something else, but Allison gets there first, literally wrapping her arms around Stiles and dragging him back.

“Don’t,” she hisses in his ear, “He’s not worth it.”

“I want to rip him apart,” Stiles mutters.

“Not now,” she pulls him away, and then Lydia’s there, a hand on his arm, staring at where Janson looks furious. Students draw back from the trio as if there is something wrong with them.

As if they are poison.

And maybe, Stiles reflects, maybe they are.

None of them are human anymore, that’s for certain.

 

It’s lonely, without the pack. Stiles has nobody, quite literally. His dad is dead and the house has been claimed by the county. Allison’s dad is on the run and she’d had to give up paying rent on her apartment. Now the pair stay with Lydia. Natalie knows something is up, but she doesn’t ask. Not since she saw ashes that weren’t ashes drift down to form what she now knows to be a perfect mountain ash line.

They are still so alone though, and that makes it easier for the DSOI to move against them. They have no strength behind them - they’re only teenagers, and they don’t even have a pack to back them up.

“We have a warrant for the arrest of Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin and Allison Argent.”

It’s been a long time coming.

“Okay,” Stiles throws up his hands and leans casually back in his chair. He then proceeds to put his hands behind his head and stick his feet on the lunch table, “I give in,” he says, “I’ll own up. Peter Hale owns an apartment downtown.”

The men in suits pause, blinking.

“You wanted werewolves, right?” Lydia asks with an arched eyebrow, “Peter Hale. You can have him. We tried to kill him once. It didn’t work out. Take him.”

“Actually it did work out,” Stiles points out, “We set him on fire. It’s not my fault he didn’t stay dead.”

Lydia glares at him.

“Whatever,” Janson sneers, “You three know something and we’re going to find out what.”

“We’re minors,” Allison snaps, “You can’t do that…”

“You’re not,” Janson smirks, “You’re eighteen and the other two, well…” he flashes a piece of paper, “I’ve got the paperwork. We have permission to use whatever means necessary.”

There is the scrape of the last few students sliding out of the way as several men step forwards, and two of them pull out night sticks while another has a taser.

Stiles’ chair makes a clatter as the legs he had been rocking backwards on crash down. Stiles is standing, looking wary, “Really? Are you going to shoot us? We’re human! I thought you guys only went after monsters but now… what’s the line? What stops you coming after anybody who pisses you off?”

“You know I actually kind of like you, kid,” Janson sighs, “I am sorry, if it helps,” and then he snatches the guy’s taser and shoots.

Stiles takes one step forwards and Allison’s seen this before. But last time she was behind the taser and Stiles wasn’t Stiles.

It doesn’t change anything. They’re not quite human anymore. Stiles has been spat back out in a pile of bandages and Allison came back from the dead.

The second the taser touches Stiles’ skin Allison is moving, sliding her crossbow out and bringing it up at full draw to face the officials. She steps forwards so she’s standing beside where Stiles holds the taser, the electricity crackling harmlessly over his skin as he stretched the wire, then tugs it away.

It scatters to the corner of the room and Janson steps back in alarm. The men in suits freeze.

“Nice try,” Allison says, smiling slightly, “Take another step and I’ll shoot.”

Janson’s face is actually slightly pale, “You’re human… the mountain ash…”

“I _am_ human,” Stiles sighs, “Was human,” he corrects himself, “Whatever, you got your confirmation. We run with wolves. But we’re not coming with you. Hunters, exterminators, you're all the same goddamn breed,” he scoffs, tone dark, “Woah…” he throws up his hands, laughing as the guns come into play.

Allison isn’t daunted.

“What are you going to do?” Stiles laughs, “Shoot us? We’re human; you don’t want our blood on your hands. Not with this many witnesses,” he gestures to the rest of the cafeteria and the few who remain in it. “You’ve started a war you’re not going to win,” he says, “And that? That’s on you guys. Supernatural and natural deaths alike.”

“I don’t care he’s human,” Janson snaps to one of his soldiers, “Shoot him.”

“But…” the guy hesitates.

“Human,” Stiles scoffs, “Painfully, beautifully human, I mean sure I was possessed for some time. The demon picked me because I tend to get underestimated. People underestimate Lydia too, because she’s pretty, but she’s actually a genius. For example, this?” he tosses something in his one hand, “She made it in the past five minutes we were chatting. So here, catch.”

Then he throws it.

Lydia stands from where she had been crouched with their phones. A tangle of wires lies on the floor along with the plastic casings and she bolts backwards, following by the other two.

“After them!” Janson shouts, and then pauses, because of the guys in suits actually had the audacity to catch the thing Stiles had thrown and…

And it explodes.

When the dust clears, Allison, Stiles and Lydia are all long gone.

 

It’s more difficult for Lydia. Allison’s dad after all can take care of himself, and Stiles’ dad… well…

Jordan is gone and she has only her mother left and Natalie…

Natalie doesn’t know anything about the world her daughter has been dabbling for the past year.

Stiles and Allison are set to bolt, have been set for months; Stiles’ jeep already packed out.

Lydia just doesn’t know how to tell them that she isn’t coming with them.

 

They’re all set to leave when Lydia shakes her head and brings down their world.

“What?” Allison’s voice cracks as she realises it, “Lydia, why aren’t you coming?”

“If they find out you’re a banshee…”

“They won’t,” she shakes her head, “I can’t run… my mom…”

“Do you know what they’ll do to you?” Stiles goes straight over hurt and worried to angry and antagonistic, “They’ll question you about everything - the pack, the wolves - any detail you tell them they’ll use against us! And these guys - if you don’t talk, I’m scared to think about what they’ll do. That’s not even starting on what will happen if they find out about you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Lydia snaps, “You think I haven’t thought this through? But if I run, then they’ll use my mom against me, and I’d rather my parents stayed alive.”

Stiles flinches as if burned. Lydia deflates, anger seeping out, “I can do this,” she tells him, “Stiles…”

He looks like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Do you trust me?” she asks instead.

His sigh is shaking, like that time back with the Darach and his panic attack. He made the same sigh after she kissed him and he finally managed to draw in a single shaky breath. And Lydia’s forgotten about Malia, forgotten about Jordan when Stiles steps forwards and presses his lips to hers. “Yes,” he breathes, centimetres from her. Their breaths mingle, and this time she leans in, hand finding his and holding it close.

Then the moment is gone and he steps away, blinking as if there are tears in his eyes, before turning to his jeep. He climbs in, leaving just Lydia and Allison.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Allison says, weakly.

“I’ll be fine,” Lydia smiles, trying not to think of what it was like when she thought Allison was dead. When for all purposes Allison _was_ dead.

They say a banshee’s screams can wake the dead.

Allison is still breathing, still standing before her, and aware suddenly that she could just as easily slip away as Lydia herself could end up the one in the grave this time; Lydia throws herself forwards to wrap Allison in a hug.

“Look after yourself,” Allison murmurs into her hair.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Lydia whispers back.

The pair part, and Lydia steps back, tucking a stray strand of hair behind one ear as Allison circles around to the passenger door and climbs in. She smooths out a wrinkle in her skirt as straightens her back as for one awful moment, the jeep seems to linger.

Then the engine roars to life, and she catches one last glimpse of the faces of her two friends before they’re gone.

And she’s left there, alone, the last member of Beacon Hills pack.

 

It’s like someone died, except there were no tears. None shared at any rate.

It’s better somehow, because at least Lydia isn’t dead. But she’s in _danger_ and they can’t do _anything_ , and they can’t even talk to her to check she’s okay.

“It’s better this way,” Allison says to Stiles, “We had to do it.”

“I know,” he replies, “I just wish there was another way.”

 

Stiles has never really left Beacon Hills. He was born there and he’d never really envisioned himself leaving. He blinks and the sign is already gone.

Next to him Allison is all too used to leaving. She offers him a weak smile, and he’s aware of how little he actually knows about Scott’s ex-girlfriend.

“It will be okay,” she reassures him.

“I’m just glad I’m not alone.”

 

The thing Stiles hates most isn’t the endless travelling or the crappy places that they have to sleep in. He hasn’t found a proper mattress for weeks, let alone had a full night’s sleep without being woken up by something. Their meals are cheap, unhealthy and if it’s not fast food or take outs, it’s ready meals that microwave within ten minutes. But none of those compare to the isolation.

Stiles misses his pack. He misses Lydia. He misses Scott. He misses Malia. And he can’t talk to any of them for safety. Plausible deniability if they’re ever caught.

He misses his dad too, but he’s never quite able to admit that to the girl he travels with. Allison is great company, and he’s discovered the pair of them share a love for movies such as StarWars that Scott never did. She has a brilliant personality and great mind and Stiles can see why Scott fell in love with her, even though his own thoughts tend to drift more into worrying about Lydia or thinking about Malia.

It’s Allison’s idea to do something.

“I can’t keep running,” she admits, after another news broadcast showing supes being rounded up into a van, “We have to do something.”

That’s how it starts.

 

He’s five and he doesn’t really understand what is happening. He is five and he’s not sure where his mother is, only that the strange men are scary and dragging him somewhere he doesn’t want to go and then…

There is a high pitched sound, like the air whistling past really, really fast, and with a cry one of the guys dragging him drops to the ground. The others look around, and he curls away from their grabbing hands, sobbing. His teeth cut through his upper lip, and he can’t control it, can’t fight back the change. His mother told him to try to stay calm, to find an anchor but…

Another noise and another guy drops, and suddenly there is a smiling face in front of him. It’s a boy, a little bit older than his older brother with sparkling eyes and a soothing voice.

“Hey,” the boy says, “Come with me. I know where your mother is.”

So he goes, takes the hand that is being offered to him. He’s five, so he understands some of what’s going on, even if the rest goes over his head. Even if facts such as the dead bodies behind him with arrows in their throats escape his notice, because the kind boy bundles him away from the scene.

And then his mother is there and she’s sobbing and thanking the boy. There’s a girl too, with long dark hair and a bow.

“Thank you,” his mother hugs him close, “Thank you so much.”

“Go,” the girl says, “Hide.”

“They’ll be more,” the boy warns.

That’s the last he’ll see of them - the boy and the girl - but he’ll never forget.

And that, that’s the thing legends are made from.

 

They lose count of how long they’re on the run for. It’s only when Stiles suddenly notices that the date has changed and that he’s been eighteen for four months and the next big event on the horizon is Christmas that he realises how much time has passed.

“Hey, look!” Allison is grinning at the news, “We’re in the news!”

“That isn’t really my best side,” Stiles says critically, squinting at the fuzzy photograph of him and Allison. It’s something the uncannies have blown up from a small security cam, one they must have missed from one of their rescue missions.

Because Allison was trained for this sort of thing, she makes the plans. And naturally they all work out. The problem is, the uncannies are only just now realising that they’re dangerous. That they pose a threat.

The problem is, by now they’ve had time to make any mistakes. They’ve had time to perfect their routine.

And they’re only getting better.

 

But they’re the lone wolves.

(“You know they actually use that word to refer to acts of terrorism done outside of terrorist groups…”

“Does that make us terrorists?”

“I prefer freedom fighters…”)

They’re lone wolves and everyone knows what they say about lone wolves travelling without a pack for too long.

They get caught out on their own. They get killed.

They die.

Something goes wrong. It always does. There is a human in a pack of wolves who unlike Stiles and Allison, doesn’t want to be one of them.

The human turns, fearful from the media hype against the supes. They betray their pack.

The Uncannies show up and all the wolves die with a wolfsbane bullet in their brain. Yellow and blue and red eyes flare and then die.

Allison remembers seeing Stiles, just the once before she went down. He was screaming at her to run.

Then she recalls a pinprick like a bee sting in her neck, and her hand swipes away a small red feathered tranquiliser dart.

 

“Tell us where the werewolves are.”

“You know I’m not even sure you can classify them as werewolves. Uh - how about lycanthropes? That way we don’t get them confused with the types of werewolves out of twilight because let’s face it; those are more of a shapeshifter type and the moon? That has no eff--“

 

“We want to know who your contacts are.”

Stiles chatters their ears off until they resort to violence. Allison says nothing at all.

 

And at first it's just questioning. But the longer they refuse to talk the more frustrated the officials get.

The uncannies know who they have in their custody. They’ve heard the stories - these are the boy and girl who run with wolves.

Janson sneers at the pair, each in a separated room, separated by only a single wall. Not that they know that. The pair look exhausted, and according to the clock ticking away, they’ve been awake for almost 26 hours, and both are looking worse for wear, but still not talking.

“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he says to a nearby co-worker, “We should move them.”

“Where?”

And for a moment he doubts. He’s not the bad guy in this, he knows that. He’s seen what a mess the monsters and supes - supernaturals - can do to them. To a family. To normality. The pair on the other side of the one way mirror are betraying their own kind by siding with the monsters. They’re enemies in a war, and he doesn’t feel guilty.

He can’t.

So Janson squashes down the little bit of compassion and makes his decision, “If they like their monsters,” he says, “Let’s throw them in with all their friends.”

 

Allison quivers, curled into a ball and crying. She’s been trained to be a warrior, a soldier, but she can honestly admit she was never trained for this. She’s caught only glimpses of Stiles since they were captured, and he looked pale, ill. Like he did when he was possessed with shaking limbs and waxy skin.

Somewhere, something bangs loudly. It might be a monster - Allison has seen what they keep locked up in this place. Feral omegas, hungering wendigos and she even saw what looked like a kanima, but bigger, with wings.

“Hello Allison,” the door opens and she can’t help but flinch away, eyes pressed tightly shut and feigning sleep, “We’ve heard something interesting today.”

There is the sound of something being thrown down, and then silence. The man who entered her… she doesn’t know what to call it. Cell? Room? He hasn’t moved, just stands there watching until she eventually opens her eyes and looks down at the object nearby.

It takes her ages to work out what it is. It’s a newspaper, but it’s old. She reads the date. 2011. November.

_Teenager Girl Killed In a Car Mugging._

The man in the doorway leers at her, fingers flicking at the syringe in his hand, “Now, Allison,” he says, “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?”

 

It was only a matter of time.

Allison and Stiles might have been human once. And in a way they still are, because above all else, humanity persists. They survive and they adapt.

And they’re both still standing, even when both should be dead. Allison should have died the first time the Oni’s sword pierced her flesh. She should have stayed dead and buried in her grave, there should not have been blood and moonlight and a banshee’s scream, dragging her back. Stiles should have died with a demon fox eating at his brain, but instead was spat back out in a pile of bandages.

The uncannies have a pair of humans - one possessed by a nogitsune and the one a hunter's daughter who came back from the dead - and, well, if the pair aren’t going to tell them about the wolves they run with, then they might as well find out answers to some other questions.

Janson turns away, no longer interested in the pair. He’s a bit disgusted, actually, just as the electricity sparks and the boy doesn’t even flinch at the voltage.

 

Months go by. Maybe even years, but nobody is counting. And in between the torture and inhumane tests, Stiles and Allison dream of a white room with a tree trunk.

They don’t even realise it’s real at first. And it’s not, it’s in their heads, but it’s still some form of twisted reality they’ve wrapped around themselves that they don’t even realise is there until Stiles turns to the space in their triskellion and remarks, “Scott’s missing.”

“I thought this was a dream,” Allison breathes.

“It is,” Stiles agrees, “But who says that means it isn’t real?”

It’s their hideaway. The place they go when the real world becomes too much. They’re not there all the time, and there are moments mid-conversation when Allison is yanked awake, or Stiles pales and stops talking, trying to stay unconscious just that little bit longer.

“I don’t think they’ve worked out yet that I’m immune to electricity,” Stiles remarks, sometime much later when they’re both there in the white room.

“If you’re immune,” Allison points out, “Then how come you’re unconscious?”

“I may have insulted one of them.”

“Again?”

“And how precisely are _you_ here?”

“I’m sleeping! They put me through that obstacle course again!”

“That one you completed too quickly?”

Allison traces the whorls of the Nemeton beneath them, “I’m stronger,” she remarks, “Faster… not by much, but… more than a human should be.”

“We’re still human.”

Her look is pitying.

He insists, “We are. What else could we be?”

 

The white room doesn’t go anywhere. If anything it gets sharper, gets clearer, easier to go there, even if they’re still awake.

“I think I saw Lydia,” Allison admits, scared, “She was wearing a lab coat.”

“Maybe it wasn’t her.”

“Maybe it was.”

“Then maybe she’s tricking them. Come on, Ally, think of how dangerous it is for her…”

 

“We can’t stay here. We have to get out.”

“Stiles, we’re trapped in a government secured building filled with supernatural creatures under lock-up. How do you really think we’re going to get out?”

“You said you’re stronger, right? I can steal a key when my guard comes in with lunch…”

“And then what? The whole place is designed to stop supes escaping…”

“Exactly. It’s designed to stop supes. Which means apart from its usual prison-like structure, there’s only one other difference, and if anything, that makes it easier. And people can escape from prisons, Allison, we can _escape_ …”

“What’s the difference? What do you mean it will be easier…?”

“It’s a supernatural prison, Ally. The walls have mountain ash in them. And the mountain ash doesn’t affect us.”

 

It’s her worst nightmare.

Lydia clutches her clipboard to her chest, fingers white. She tries not to show her distaste as the doctor in charge explains something to them. She half tunes in, catching words such as accelerated healing, human DNA but there’s something wrong, something they can’t place and the other one has it as well and…

And it’s Allison. It’s Allison lying on a hospital bed with needles and IVs and heart rate monitors beeping around her. It looks like she’s in a coma or something, but there is a flicker of her eyes moving beneath closed lids.

“Why is the subject drugged up?” someone next to her asks.

“It’s not permanent,” the guard interjects before the doctor can speak, “She attacked one of the orderlies, so we decided to knock her out for a little rest. The other one is awake…”

Lydia follows, even as she does so knowing she doesn’t want to. She doesn’t want to be here.

But it’s a cover. It’s all a cover. It’s been a cover for the past few years, and it’s been perfect. Pretend to be human, try not to scream, look after her mother and try to help who she can.

They come to a stop and she’s never felt so helpless. Because there is barely a chance of her helping these two. Her friends. She remembers the last time she saw them, and tries not to compare it to the pale shapes she’s just seen. Allison had looked almost dead and Stiles…

He’s curled on the floor, and there is nobody else in the room. Instead they watch through the glass, wide-eyed and slack jawed at the lightning that dances around the boy’s form.

His eyes are open, and Lydia turns away, trying not to think about the mercury silver fox eyes she sees there, trying not to wonder if it’s still Stiles.

She needs to do something. She needs to get them out.

 

As soon as she can she slips away. She doesn’t have long, but the five minutes they have to take a break and make drinks is all she needs to call for help.

“Scott? I’ve found Stiles and Allison.”

But that five minutes is all that is needed, because by the time she gets back there are alarms ringing. “What is it?” she asks, “What’s going on?”

“You didn’t hear?” the guard looks terrified, “Argent and Stilinski have escaped.”

 

Stiles feels like the fox has crawled back under his skin.

He rubs at the red on his hand and rubs and rubs and rubs and…

“Don’t go all Lady Macbeth on me,” Allison says to him. She’s pale, hair hanging limply, cut short around her chin and her eyes dull. There is a mottled bruise around her throat and wrist from the various injections over the years.

“I ripped him apart,” Stiles whispers, “That guard… I didn’t even think…” he remembers the sound of the man’s neck snapping and it doesn’t send the shivers down his spine that it should, “I _enjoyed_ it,” he chokes out.

“Yeah, well…” Allison’s hands are trembling even though she’s tried to stop them, she can’t hold her bow still anymore. Stiles looks up at her, searching her gaze for the moment when she finally breaks down just that little bit, “I did too.”

 

It’s been years. Stiles scribbles math on the back of an envelope, trying to work out how old he is now. Allison cuts her hair again and buys them new cloths and new identities.

In the streets there are flyers protesting supernatural rights. In the news there are stories about brutality that has been carried out against the supes. On the TV there are images of crying children with glowing eyes, guilty only of being a different creature.

Things are changing, have been changing while Stiles and Allison have been locked up and locked away. There are communities where supernaturals are accepted, and while fear still runs rampant in some parts of the country, in other parts there are laws and rules and guidelines being set out.

“It feels like everything changed,” Stiles says, “Like we stepped back into a completely different world.”

Allison bumps into someone, apologises profusely and then catches up to him, brandishing a stolen wallet, “Some things stay the same,” she says as she begins to effectively empty the wallet of cash.

“Do you reckon this is what Peter felt like, waking up after the coma?”

“Do you think I care?”

Stiles scoffs, “What do we do now?” he asks, changing the subject, “Where do we go?”

“I’ve heard there was an underground circle,” Allison says, “Apparently there is a hideout for supes. And I want to find it.”

I want to find my pack, she thinks, but doesn’t need to say because Stiles is already thinking the same thing.

 

“What do you mean ‘they’ve gone’?” Scott asks Lydia in surprise.

“What the hell is she doing here?” Isaac doesn’t let her reply, instead flashing gold eyes and bristling at the red head, “She works for them!” the beta shouts, “Look at her! She has a badge and everything…”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Lydia snaps at Isaac, then turns to Scott, “And I meant they’ve gone. They escaped. I don’t know how, only that there were five dead guards and the cameras show they just walked out of the door. Nobody can work it out - they haven’t spoken in months, but the two of them managed to co-ordinate everything.”

“See!” Isaac points a finger at Lydia, “How could she possible know any of that if she wasn’t working for them…?”

“She’s a double agents, dumbass,” Malia growls from the side where she sits with Kira and Liam. Isaac frowns, and Scott nods in agreement.

“Lydia has been our double agent,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “She’s been feeding us information and we’ve passed a lot of it onto the government. We would never have convinced them to pass that last law about scientific research if she hadn’t given us evidence about the inhumane things the uncannies did in that place.”

“And the fact they did it on Allison?” Isaac glares, “And Stiles?” he adds for good measure, “Our friends were in there and she did nothing!”

“I didn’t know!” Lydia shouts out, “I never saw the whole facility for months! When I finally realised that they had been right there the whole time…” she stops, hand blotting furiously at the tears streaming down her face, “I told Scott as soon as I found out,” she whispers, “But by then it was too late…”

“It’s okay,” Scott wraps his arms around Lydia, pulling the banshee into a hug. The past few years have been hard on them all, but Lydia… he still doesn’t know how she did it, playing the uncannies and hiding her secret for so long.

“Uh… sorry…” a beta whose name Scott doesn’t know stands in the doorway, “Uh, Alpha, there’s been a break in. The other packs want you to come and see.”

“A break in?” Lydia pulls away, trying to regain her composure, “What did they take?”

“That’s the thing,” the beta says, “We don’t know. The security alarm got tripped, but there is no sign that they’ve even left yet.”

“I’m coming,” Scott sighs, “And for the last time - my name is Scott.”

“Yes, Alpha,” the beta says.

Scott’s head sinks into his palm with a sigh.

 

It’s a village. A town. Made up of entirely supernaturals. There are vampires and ghouls and wendigos and kitsune and shapeshifters and…

… and there are werewolves.

“We tripped the alarm,” Allison says. Neither of them really worry that much as she picks the lock to a second floor fire door and the pair slip inside.

“What if they’re not here?” Stiles asks her.

“Then we look elsewhere,” Allison says, “They have to be somewhere.”

The pair pace along the catwalk. The whole building is a large hall of sorts, it looks like it used to be some sort of stage with space for people to stand in. Overhead hang lights and loudspeakers.

“Maybe we could stay here,” Allison pauses to peer down at where some children are kicking a ball through the large open space, “We’re just as wanted as they are.”

“We’re not supes,” Stiles frowns, “They might have a problem wi--“ he’s cut off when a shape appears in front of them.

“You!” an alpha werewolf - unfamiliar - big with broad shoulders, recognises them, “You’re the pair the uncannies are after?”

“Who? Us?” Stiles laughs, even as he steps backwards, “No, I think you’ve mistaken us for someone else…”

“Uh, Stiles?” Allison has her back to him, staring at some approaching monsters behind them, “Exit plan…?”

Stiles panics for a moment. It’s the tight space, the claustrophobia which has clung to him since their imprisonment, and when the alpha wolf lunges he barely has to think before his eyes flash silver and with a violent slash of his hands, the wolf drops with a spark of electricity.

Allison’s crossbow fires at the ones behind them, and then the pair are gone, running. “Time to change the plan!” Allison shouts.

 

They almost make it out. They’re practically at the door when someone blocks them off with freaking fire on his palm and Stiles skids to a stop with a snarl. Electricity crackles on his palm seconds before he recognises the person standing in front of him.

“Parrish?”

“Wha--“ the fire dies and the man blinks at the pair, “Stiles? Allison?”

“Oh my god,” Allison’s crossbow drops so suddenly she almost shoots herself in the foot, “You’re alive?”

“Me? You two…”

“Stiles?”

He spins around, watching as their monster pursuers are pushed aside by one very irate werecoyote. She freezes for a long moment, staring at them in disbelief. In that moment Isaac catches up to her and staggers to a halt, trying to take it all in.

“You’re alive!” Malia throws herself forwards in what would have been a reunion hug, except Stiles and Allison flinch back. The coyote stops, steps away from them, looking like she still wants to hug them, but settling for just bursting into tears, “I thought you were dead!” she screams at Stiles, and in the wake of not being able to hug him, turns around and hugs a confused Isaac.

“Malia?” Stiles whispers, barely daring to believe it, “Isaac..? But then that means…”

“Stiles? _Allison_?”

 

If any other supernatural creature that didn’t belong to their pack were there, they fled at the sound of the true alpha. The burly alpha from earlier stops his advance on them, shaking off electricity and cursing as he goes, leaving behind the pack.

Scott can’t believe it. Because they’re here. Stiles and Allison… are here.

“You’re alive,” he whispers, staring at his best friend and first love. The pair are pale, and there are sparks dancing around Stiles’ clenched fist.

“You’re all okay,” Stiles blinks, then: “Oh, screw it,” and he steps towards his friend. Stiles feels thin under Scott’s arms, and he recoils a little but from the embrace but after a few seconds, relaxes, just enough time for Allison to join them.

“You’re back,” Scott still can’t believe it; “You’re back.”

“No,” Allison corrects him, “We’re home.

 

The other supernaturals don’t like it. The pair have a reputation the size of Alaska, and they don’t trust the two humans.

But the pair have found their answers to some questions at least, “We are still human,” Stiles tells Allison and Scott quietly one day, “But the Nemeton and magic and…”

And Scott hits him, gently, over the head, “And I don’t care.”

Stiles and Malia don’t quite manage to get back to the way things were, not the way Allison and Isaac do. That’s okay though. Neither of them need each other the way they once did. Besides, Stiles has somebody else. Lydia’s there and she’s been through her own kind of hell over the years, and the next time they kiss, it’s just like it was when they said goodbye, so long ago.

“What do you mean you’re rescuing some prisoners?” Allison demands Scott one day when the pack prepare to go and help some witches who got themselves imprisoned.

“I think what she means,” Stiles corrects, “Is what do you mean you’re rescuing prisoners _without_ _us_?”

“It’s too dangerous,” Scott protests, but they don’t listen.

It takes him seeing them arrive against his orders with arrows and fire and electricity and - who the hell gave Stiles a sword - before he really accepts it.

His pack are whole once more. Their missing pieces have returns.

The wayward wolves have found their way back to their pack.


End file.
